


"Don't look so worried, Will.  He doesn't bite."

by until_the_earth_is_free



Series: The Fluffy Adventures of an Unstable Professor and His Pet Cannibal [1]
Category: Hannibal (TV), Red Dragon - Thomas Harris
Genre: Alternate Universe - Yoga, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Self Confidence Issues, UST
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-27
Updated: 2013-10-14
Packaged: 2017-12-27 19:09:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 7,946
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/982547
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/until_the_earth_is_free/pseuds/until_the_earth_is_free
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After Will was attacked, Alana has been very concerned about his mental health and so has recommended (*ahem* coerced) Will to go to yoga classes to help calm down.  But wait!  A wild totally-unpredicted-problem appears!  Who'd a thunk his yoga class leader would be so ridiculously attractive?<br/>Gratuitous fluff and cannibalism puns ensue.</p><p>BEWARE, SAILORS, HERE BE RED DRAGON SPOILERS</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

“Will, you need help.”

Will was lying on his bed, miserably counting the scratches on his ceiling. He groaned and pinched the bridge of his nose with one hand.

“I don’t want therapy,” he said shortly, aware of how petulant he must be sounding.

Alana moved closer from her stance at his bedroom door, carefully avoiding the various dogs scattered around the room, and sat on the edge of his bed.

“When was the last time you left the house?”

“This morning,” he replied, a little too quickly.

She sighed and Will could feel her frustration trying to leak out from under her reserved therapist-face. He knew how much strain he was putting on her and how much she was trying to help him but he didn’t have the energy anymore to let her.

It had been a month since The Incident, as Alana so delicately described it, and Will still hadn’t gone back to work as a professor at the FBI Academy, even though all physical injuries had healed, according to the doctors at least. Will doubted the jagged scar across his face would ever fade.

“I know you don’t like the idea of therapy,” Alana began and Will snorted with sarcasm. “But there are alternatives that might help you alleviate your stress and come to grips with the trauma.”

“Like what?” Will asked, still staring at the ceiling.

Alana shifted slightly closer.

“A close colleague of mine retired from psychiatry about a year ago and now runs a yoga class every Tuesday evening.”

“Yoga?” There was no mistaking the incredulity in Will’s voice. “I can’t even begin to explain why that would be a bad idea.”

“Oh, really?” Alana asked, sardonically. “Well, I’m going to have to take a rain check on that one because I’ve already signed you up for the next four weeks of classes.”

Will jolted upright, causing one of the dogs to jump in surprise at the sudden movement.

“You what?”

Alana smiled. This was the most energy she had seen him display for weeks.

“Here’s the address and time,” she said, handing him a piece of paper with a Baltimore address scribbled on it in her distinct messy handwriting. To her surprise, he took it without grumbling.

“What did you say his name was, again?” he asked timidly, inspecting the piece of paper.

“Hannibal Lecter. And don’t look so worried, Will. He doesn’t bite.”

~O~

Tuesday afternoon saw a terrified Will Graham park his car a block away from the address Alana had given him and stare at his hands still clenching the steering-wheel for several minutes. He had agonised over what to wear for about an hour earlier that day and had settled for a pair of navy blue sweatpants and an old t-shirt. That was what people wore to yoga, right? The last thing he needed was to stand out further than his scar already did.

With an enormous degree of effort, Will dragged himself out of the car and started to shuffle his way over to the class. It was not a particularly busy road, for which he was thankful, and he managed to arrive at the building without feeling too anxious about people staring at him.

Much to his surprise, the yoga class was held at someone’s house, presumably Hannibal Lecter’s, and for a moment Will wondered if Alana had written down the right address.

The image of him explaining to a stranger why he had accidentally knocked on their door while wearing sweatpants flashed through his mind, accompanied by a violent shudder.

Then, before he could change his mind or procrastinate further, he rang the doorbell.

The door was answered almost immediately by a tall, extremely well-dressed gentleman and Will felt his blood run cold as he realised he must be in the wrong place.

“You must be Mr Graham, correct?” the man asked, his voice gently tempered with an east-European accent.

Will blushed at the ridiculousness of his own fears and assumptions and nodded.

“My name is Hannibal Lecter and I run this class. Would you like to come with me?”

Will nodded again, feeling kind of stupid and very under-dressed, and followed Mr Lecter through his large, tastefully furnished house and down into the basement. Will only hesitated briefly before dismissing his fears of the gentleman being a serial killer and descending the stairs, which he felt was a victory on his part.

The basement was wide and spacious with a low ceiling and a wooden floor, on which about a dozen yoga mats were evenly distributed. Only three yoga mats were occupied so far and Will decided to take one in the corner of the room, far away from where he presumed Mr Lecter would be standing at the front.

With a suave smile, the yoga instructor excused himself to return upstairs and wait for the remaining ‘guests’.

Will checked his watch and noted that there were ten minutes before the class was due to start. He took off his jacket and gingerly folded it next to his mat and then sat down and tried not to think about his pathetic level of flexibility and his habit of screwing up in front of large groups of people.

“Hey, are you new?” asked the woman on the mat next to Will.

He flinched slightly at the imminent conversation ahead and nodded.

“I’m Beverly,” she declared, extending her hand theatrically towards Will, who stared at it for a few seconds before remembering to shake it.

“I’m Will,” he mumbled, looking at her dark purple nail polish rather than her face.

“My name’s Franklyn,” offered the man sitting on the mat at the front of the room, who had turned around to face them. “I’ve been coming to these classes since Hannibal started them, so you can always ask me for help with the positions.”

“And I’ve been part of Hannibal’s obsession with meditation and yoga long before that,” the girl on the other side of Beverly retorted, clearly irritated with Franklyn. At Will’s confused expression, she explained, “I’m Abigail, Hannibal’s daughter.”

“So, Will,” Beverly said, conversationally. “How did you get that nasty scar?”

Will spluttered at the bluntness of the question and was trying to stammer out a coherent answer when Mr Lecter returned down the stairs with another student, a petite woman with incredibly vibrant red hair who took a mat near the centre of the room.

“Well,” Mr Lecter announced, clasping his hands together and striding to the front. “Shall we begin?”

 

 

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will completes his first yoga class with Herr Von Sexy-Pants.

It was at that moment that Mr Lecter’s phone started to vibrate obnoxiously in his pocket.

“Apologies,” he said to the class graciously and flipped open the phone and placed it against his ear.

“Dr Lecter speaking. Ah, hello, Alana. Why yes, he is here.” Will’s insides churned and he could feel Beverly watching the heat crawl up his neck.

Hannibal laughed, a deep, melodious sound, and turned off his phone with a short beep before facing the class again.

“Now, I would like you all to take off your shoes and lie down on your mat.” They obeyed.

“Breathe slowly, in and out, and concentrate on the air filling your body and delivering its energy all the way to your extremities.”

Will resisted the urge to roll his eyes and instead focussed on his breathing, which suddenly sounded much louder than everyone else’s. Pushing away his anxiety, he forced himself to inhale and exhale according to an imaginary metronome.

_In, two, three, four, out, two, three, four..._

“I would like you to extend your arms to the ceiling while keeping your shoulders firmly based on the ground. Follow the breath.”

Follow the breath? What the hell did that even mean?

Will complied and stretched his arms forward, feeling rather like a puppet.

“Now, bring your legs slowly up and clasp them with your hands to form ‘baby’s pose’. Make sure to keep your gravity with the breath.”

Keep your gravity...? Was Will being an idiot or did that not actually make sense? Wasn’t this man supposed to have gone through medical school?

Starting to panic slightly, Will glanced to his right to see Beverly performing the ‘baby’s pose’ with her tongue slightly sticking out in concentration. Copying her position, Will managed to hold himself still for about a second before toppling over to one side with a solid, audible thunk.

There was some stifled laughter from the other participants as Will, blushing furiously and cursing his terrible sense of balance, tried to right himself.

“Very good,” Hannibal’s smooth voice said. “Would everyone please stand up for sun salutations?”

Will heard some shuffling and adjusting of mats as everyone stood to the front of their mats and raised their hands in the prayer position. Will copied them and tried to concentrate his stare on the wall behind Dr Lecter.

As the instructor explained to the class the order of positions and movements required for this exercise, Will found himself struggling to commit any of the steps to memory as he was far too distracted by the fact that Dr Lecter was really attractive.

He was just trying to estimate how much further Dr Lecter’s cheekbones protruded than average when there was a communal intake of breath around him and the entire class stretched their arms up and dropped down into a lunge position. Desperately attempting to keep up, Will watched Franklyn’s movements and imitated them as best he could while that accented voice continued to lecture them on breathing.

For an activity that was supposed to promote calmness, it was extremely anxiety-inducing and Will found himself quickly out of breath from the strenuous pace at which they were changing position.

Dr Lecter remained standing at the front, with perfect posture and his hands held behind his back.

When they had finished the sun salutations, Dr Lecter announced that they would be holding the downward dog pose while he wandered around to inspect their technique.

_Shit._

Will glanced around at the other participants quickly before leaning over and performing the pose himself. As the blood rushed to his head, Will listened to Dr Lecter comment on the others and attempted to improve his own position on their critiques.

“Well improved, Franklyn. Just try not to bunch your shoulders around your neck as much. Yes, that’s better.”

Will wriggled his shoulders so they became less tense.

Why did he decide to wear this ratty old t-shirt?

“A little higher, Abigail.”

Why did Dr Lecter choose such a demeaning pose?

Will’s wrists were starting to burn and the back of his knees were aching.

By the time Dr Lecter had reached him, both his arms and legs were trembling violently with tension and his shirt had slipped slightly to reveal half of his stomach. He could hear a roar of blood in his ears as he stared at Dr Lecter’s black leather shoes. He seriously wore those shoes around his own house?

“You can let go now, Will,” Dr Lecter said quietly and immediately Will let himself collapse in an undignified heap on the mat. Was the man not going to suggest improvements?

Fortunately, the rest of the lesson passed in cool-down mode and Will was able to follow the instructions without too much pain.

At the end, Dr Lecter politely thanked the group for their time and gave them permission to leave once they had returned their mats to a pile in the corner. As Will was rolling up his mat, he saw the familiar black shoes return to the floor in front of him.

“Will,” the doctor said. “Would you mind staying behind for a few minutes?”

Will shook his head, refusing to look up and feeling his heart start beating erratically fast from the anxiety and excitement of talking to this well-dressed European man alone.

When everyone had left and Will had put away his mat, Dr Lecter began to speak.

“I hope you did not strain anything during our session today.”

Will stared at the ground and waited for him to continue.

“There is no place for self-violence in yoga,” the doctor said calmly.

Will’s eyes sprung up to the doctor’s face.

“What do you mean?” he demanded, indignant.

“You can’t overwork your body, Will. It is important that you accept your limitations. This does not only refer to physical limitations, either. Recovery from trauma and depression is a lengthy process that requires time and patience.”

“Don’t psychoanalyse me,” Will advised, with a bitter expression. “You won’t like me when I’m psychoanalysed.”

Then, turning around to pick up his bag, he mumbled a ‘thank you’ and half-ran, up the stairs and out of the house. The moment he was out on the street, he popped out his phone and dialled Alana’s number.

The phone only rang twice before he heard a tired voice on the other side say, “hello?”

“You can cancel the next three sessions,” Will told her, and for some reason, he felt anger cripple his voice. “I’m not going back.”

“Why? What happened?”

“I don’t think your friend has quite retired from psychiatry yet.”

There was a silence that Will understood as guilty comprehension.

“Why would you tell him?”

He was embarrassed to hear his voice crack at the end of the question.

“I didn’t tell him anything.”

Silence.

“Will? Are you there? Do you need me to pick you up?” He could hear concern creep back into her voice.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” he said hollowly. “Forget what I said. I’ll go next week.”

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I still don't know what I'm doing with my life.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Freddie interrogates Will about Things He Would Rather Not Discuss and our good friend Hannibal rides in on a white horse to save the day and invite Will over for dinner.

It _was_ actually quite calming, Will mused, while he was helping Beverly roll up her mat at the end of a class. Not the actual exercise, but the fact that he had an obligation to see to every week. It forced him to actually change out of his pyjamas and shower, maybe even take the time to make himself look presentable for Dr Lecter.

Not that he had a crush on his yoga instructor or anything.

It was just that, ever since his first class two weeks ago, he’d held a certain level of fascination with the polite doctor. The man seemed to know an awful lot about Will’s problems, but was extremely passive about his deductions and if he had any inclination to help Will he certainly didn’t show it.

It was comforting. Will experienced so many emotions and ideas from so many sources that he felt solace in the silence provided by the reserved Dr Lecter.

He did notice, however, the tingling in his muscles whenever the doctor corrected his pose by gently pushing his back down or his arms apart. Of course, the tingling was _probably_ caused by muscle spasms...

“Excuse me?”

Will felt a hard tap on his shoulder and turned around to see the redhead smiling widely at him. She looked like the Cheshire Cat.

“You’re Will Graham, aren’t you?”

He nodded stiffly, not appreciating where he thought this was going.

“I’m Freddie Lounds; I report for TattleCrime.com. Would you mind if I asked you a few questions about the Tooth Fairy case?”

Will felt his face flush, which probably horribly accentuated the ugly red line that trailed across his right cheek to the top of his lip.

“I don’t think...” he whispered helplessly but was interrupted by the reporter.

“Is it true the FBI filed a false report of death for Francis Dolarhyde and allowed him to get away? How do you feel about the incompetence of the Bureau, considering the personal impact it made on you?”

Blinking furiously, Will gaped like a fish out of water, unable to stammer anything beyond,

“I- I-”

“You were in a psychiatric ward for two weeks, correct? Could you please-”

“That’s enough.”

A firm hand clasped Will’s shoulder, making him suddenly aware of how much he was shaking. He flicked his eyes to his right and saw Dr Lecter engaging in a staring contest with Freddie.

“This class is meant to be a calm sanctuary for those who seek serenity from their daily lives. Since you seem to be unable to respect this, I must ask you to leave,” he said, his voice dangerously quiet.

“That’s alright,” she replied, her smile turning defiant. “I got what I needed to know.” She then turned and flounced up the stairs, almost skipping at her ‘victory’.

“What a bitch,” muttered Beverly and Will jumped, forgetting she had been standing next to him. He twitched a weak smile at her and turned to the doctor, who still had his shoulder in a vice-like grip.

“I’m, uh, I’m really sorry about that,” he stuttered, reverting to staring at the man’s shoes again.

“On the contrary, good Will, I am sorry I ever let a tabloid reporter into my house.”

Beverly snorted at that.

“I am, however, quite concerned that Miss Lounds might be expecting to continue her... ‘interview’ with you outside. Instead, would you like to join Abigail and me for dinner?”

With a hand rubbing at the heat rising in his neck, Will nodded slowly at the floor and felt another smile, involuntary this time, pull at his lips.

“Very good.”

~O~

Still wearing his sweatpants, Will waited at the dinner table for Dr Lecter to bring out the first course. He felt ridiculously under-dressed, given the fancy surroundings and his host’s impeccable style. Swinging his legs and then quickly stopping at how much he felt like a child at the action, Will studied the place set before him.

Did he really need all that cutlery in one meal? He was having dinner, not performing heart surgery.

Will took another sip of his wineglass to calm himself down.

How was one supposed to hold wineglasses anyway? Will thought back to that James Bond movie he saw that one time and tried to copy the grasp from his memory of it.

When in doubt, do as the classy European does.

When Dr Lecter re-entered the room, Will flinched and almost spilled his wine at the sudden sound of the door shutting.

God, why did he have to be so jumpy?

“Roasted chicken breast with wilted spinach and baked fig stuffed with gorgonzola and hazelnuts,” Dr Lecter introduced airily, placing one plate in front of Will and one on the placemat directly opposite him before taking a seat.

“It looks fantastic,” Will said, in awe of the artistic display of food in front of him. “Almost too good to eat.”

“Then let me assure you, Will, that this particular chicken was a bad little bird so we can start our meal without guilt.”

Will smiled a little at the doctor’s peculiar play on words and started to cut into his figs.

“Hang on,” he said, frowning a little. “Where’s Abigail?”

“She’s having dinner with a friend. She said she wanted us to have some ‘private bonding-time’,” Dr Lecter replied, endearingly mimicking his daughter’s voice.

Will swallowed his mouthful of food and slowly looked up at the man across the table from him.

“Dr Lecter,” he said, hesitantly. “Is this a date?”

“Actually, Will, I believe that is a fig.”

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the third chapter in two days of a freaking Yoga Instructor AU.  
> Someone send help.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will and Hannibal continue their dinner party.

_“Actually, Will, I believe that is a fig.”_

Will cleared his throat awkwardly and looked back down at his food. Of course it wasn’t a date. Well-dressed men from interesting places half-way around the world don’t date asocial mental-cases with facial scars. And now he’d messed up any possibility of friendship with this man and probably ruined the entire dinner with his presumptuous bumbling.

Way to blow it, Will Graham.

He snuck a glance at Dr Lecter to gage how badly he’d screwed up.

The man was smiling. He was elegantly cutting his chicken with a goddamn smirk on his face. Seeing Dr Lecter looking so content motivated something in Will.

“That’s not what I meant,” he said, his voice sounding much louder than he had anticipated.

“I know,” replied Dr Lecter. “I make puns when I’m nervous.”

Fuck, that was attractive.

Wait. _Will_ was making _Dr Lecter_ nervous?

Was Dr Lecter trying to tell Will he wasn’t interested?

“I don’t want to say or do anything that will make you feel uncomfortable,” the ex-psychiatrist continued. “Especially given your unfortunate circumstances.”

And now they were back to _this_ topic again.

“You shouldn’t worry about me,” Will said, with a half-shrug. “I’m fine, honestly.”

“What Freddie Lounds said earlier upset you.”

“Well, yeah...” Will fiddled with his spinach distractedly. “I would have preferred that you didn’t know about my recent... psychiatric adventures. Not that I don’t trust you or anything! It’s just that, you know, as a former psychiatrist, you are likely to still be inclined to have a certain level of professional curiosity that I wanted to avoid...?”

He trailed off and quickly took a bite of spinach to conceal his diffidence.

“Why, Will. I do believe that is the longest I have ever heard you speak at once. I think we have made progress.”

“See what I mean?” Will asked, a sardonic smile reaching his lips.

Dr Lecter laughed.

“Dessert?”

“Yes, please.”

There was a scraping of chairs as they stood up and Dr Lecter swiftly picked up both plates before striding out of the dining room, Will following keenly behind.

The kitchen was everything he expected Dr Lecter’s kitchen to be. Classy, large, minimalist for practicality, but still retaining optimal practicality for cooking. There were several large cookbooks open on the counter and Will began to study the rather complicated-looking recipe for the course they had just finished eating while his host opened the fridge to gather ingredients for the dessert course.

“Are raspberry whipped-cream meringues sufficient for dessert?”

“That sounds perfect, Dr Lecter.”

Dr Lecter laughed again, causing a small twinge of delight in between Will’s shoulder blades.

“Please, Will. Call me Hannibal.”

“That sounds perfect, _Hannibal_ ,” Will repeated, only blushing slightly at the feeling of saying the name out loud.

Hannibal grinned and Will suddenly noticed that the man never showed his teeth when he smiled.

“Will?”

“Uh, yeah?” he replied, his face catching fire at the mortification of being caught while staring at someone’s lips.

“Would you please wash these raspberries for me?” asked Hannibal, the epitome of social grace, offering a metallic bowl to Will.

Will busied himself with the sink, desperate to please the doctor and not somehow destroy the fruit by his culinary incompetence, while Hannibal started whisking a bowl of cream and sugar.

Of course Dr Lecter would whip his own cream.

Trying very hard not to turn around and look at Hannibal’s tensed, muscular forearms, Will managed to rinse out the berries without any major water spillages on the sleek black countertop. He held the bowl tightly in both hands and turned around, only to immediately collide with Hannibal’s body right in front of him.

“Oh God, I’m so sorry,” Will exclaimed, as he looked down at the dozen or so raspberries that had fallen on the floor.

“I never answered your question, did I?”

“I’m sorry, what?”

“About whether this was a date.”

Holy shit.

Will looked slowly up at the yoga instructor, not daring to extend his gaze any higher than Hannibal’s lips.

Which was really very convenient because that was the moment Hannibal Lecter kissed him.

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Confession: I have no idea where this story is going.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After their 'date?', Will slips back into angst and receives an unexpected visit...

Hannibal hadn’t been planning on kissing Will, at least not at that moment.

He’d been thinking about it, fantasising even, ever since he met the man, but he had sworn he would wait until Will was ready.

Hannibal Lecter was a patient man.

He had taught himself to meditate through his stressful surgery days and his tedious years as a therapist, to accept external presences and to control internal ones. It was a very strong belief of his that a relaxed body made a relaxed mind and he was incredibly proud of both.

So it was an enormous shock to him when he discovered himself in such a state of tension that he broke his own promise to himself.

It was a good kiss.

Hannibal could find absolutely no physical reason why he pulled away so quickly from Will, except that he was so unusually startled by his subconscious’s wilfulness.

However, Will looked even more surprised at the gesture than Hannibal felt and a flash of disappointment rolled across the teacher’s face when Hannibal took a step back before a tinge of embarrassment coloured his boyish, scarred cheeks and regret reflected in his eyes.

“I should probably go, then, right?” Will muttered, with a self-deprecating grimace.

“No, wait, please stay, Will-” Hannibal implored, his usually pristine syntax deteriorating in emotion, but Will had already gone.

Hannibal Lecter was not in the habit of cursing, finding such language vulgar, but tonight seemed to be an exception to several of his self-imposed rules.

Abigail found him an hour later, swearing violently in Lithuanian and crushing the fallen raspberries with the heel of his shoe, watching the fruit bleed into the tiles.

~O~

Will did not come to class the following Tuesday.

Franklyn seemed pleased.

~O~

On Wednesday morning, Will was back to lying motionless on his bed, Winston seated next to him, periodically licking his fingers to make sure he was still alive. He hadn’t bothered to change that day. It wasn’t like he was going anywhere except back to bed.

He let out a defeated sigh and continued trying not to think about Hannibal.

It was around noon when he heard three loud, brisk knocks on his door. His dogs leapt up, thrilled at the prospect of a visitor. Will got up warily: it hadn’t sounded like Alana’s usual rhythmic four-count knock. Grabbing his dressing gown for a sense of decency, he walked towards the door, the dogs prancing around at his feet.

“Stay,” he told them firmly.

It was only when he opened the door that he imagined the possibility of Hannibal Lecter making a house-call and regretted not putting on more clothes.

His visitors were actually the last two people expected on his doorstep.

“Beverly? Abigail? What, uh...” he exclaimed confusedly. “How do you know where I live?”

Beverly laughed.

“Alana Bloom was busy so she told me to check up on you for her,” she explained, bending down to stroke Gerald the terrier. “Wow, you’ve got a lot of dogs.”

“And you’re here because...?” Will asked Abigail, probably sounding a lot ruder than intended.

“I brought lunch,” she said shortly, and walked through the door like she’d been in his house before.

“I’m, uh, I’m going to go put some more clothes on,” Will mumbled, and left his two guests in the messy living room.

When he felt he was appropriately dressed, Will returned to see Abigail unpacking several small tupperware boxes on his breakfast table and Beverly searching his kitchen cupboards for plates and cutlery.

“Wow, thanks,” he said, sitting down and feeling rather like the third wheel in his own house.

“Hannibal was the one who made it,” Abigail informed him. “He was worried about you when you didn’t come yesterday.”

Her tone felt accusatory and Will deduced they must have a very close relationship for her to feel so defensive of a man who was the last person who needed defending.

“Sorry,” he said. “I couldn’t make it yesterday.”

“Liar,” Abigail said, conversationally. “I know you and Hannibal had an argument last Tuesday.”

“Oh?”

Beverly set down a stack of plates and looked at them with a very interested expression.

“Do tell.”

Will snorted.

“There really isn’t much to say,” he admitted. “I’d just thought... Well, I’d assumed...”

“Spit it out, then,” urged Beverly.

“I sort of thought Hannibal was into me,” he blurted out, blushing.

Why the hell was he telling Hannibal’s _daughter_ this?

“But he’s not,” he garbled, face getting pinker by the second. “So I wasn’t really intent on making anything weird by coming to his house yesterday.”

Beverly and Abigail exchanged a meaningful look, as if referring to something they had discussed earlier.

“Will,” Beverly said, sitting down at the table and looking him in the eyes earnestly. “The guy has cooked this gorgeous meal for you and, according to Abigail, has been all cut up since you left his house last week. You’ve got to be as crazy as Freddie Lounds claims you to be to not totally tap that.”

Abigail made a sort of choking noise that sounded half-way between a laugh and a retch.

“Shall we get started on lunch?”

“So, what do you think I should do?” Will asked Beverly in all seriousness.

“Were you not paying attention, Graham?” she demanded, ladling herself a portion of stew that had miraculously remained warm during their journey to Wolf Trap. “I think you should totally tap that.”

Abigail rolled her eyes and Will’s face started to burn again.

“No, I mean-”

“I think you should come to the ballet with Hannibal this Saturday,” Abigail interrupted, her pale eyes suddenly focussed on Will’s in an almost intimidating, disconcerting way.

“I’m sorry?”

“He has a spare ticket because I’m busy this weekend. It would be perfect for you two to go on a real date with no puns intended.”

“Um, yeah, that sounds great. You’re sure, right?”

Will was already mentally scanning his wardrobe for something he could wear.

“Sure as sure,” Abigail confirmed.

Will was so busy smiling into his delicious beef stew he didn’t see the two women share a secret, conspiratorial smile.

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oho, Beverly and Abigail, what have you done?


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will and his pet cannibal go to the ballet (part 1).

That Saturday at six o’clock, Will was rummaging around his house for a suitable tie to wear with his suit.

It was the first time he had worn the thing in around seven months. Usually the perfunctory, black formalwear hung untouched at the back of his wardrobe until the occasional co-workers’ wedding or the FBI annual cocktail party, but he had wanted to dress up tonight because apparently ballets were fancy affairs.

He was sort of hoping Hannibal would become an affair, too.

 _Wow, Graham_ , he thought to himself when he finally found his bow-tie under his box of fishing hooks in his bedside drawer. _Put a lid on it, why don’t you?_

Shuffling over to his bathroom mirror, he wrapped the tie around his neck and started to knot it. Unfortunately, it had been such a long time since he had tied a bow-tie, it took him around ten minutes and a quick google search to rediscover the art.

When he had approved of the state of his tie, his eyes wandered up to the reflection of his face. He had avoided looking in the mirror since the attack because the scar Dolarhyde had carved into his face was so horribly obvious and repulsive and was such a sore reminder to Will of the worst day of his life that it had been simply too much to bear.

He considered putting concealer over it, but he didn’t think his masculine ego would be able to take it.

 _That was why Hannibal pulled away_ , Will told his reflection resolutely. _He sees you as more of a charity-case, a patient, than a friend. Or a potential partner._

Will could feel himself slip back into his negativity and was almost thinking about not going to the ballet at all, hiding himself in his house eating stale pop-tarts and never seeing Hannibal Lecter ever again when his phone chimed with the sound of a text.

[Unknown: Good luck on your DATE ;) x Beverly]

How the hell did that woman get his number as well?

Still, he saved the number into his phone in case he was ever had to testify in a case of stalking involving Beverly Katz and, since he was already in the hallway, slipped on his shoes and grabbed his keys, before petting his dogs goodbye and leaving the house.

He was careful not to catch his reflection’s eye in the rearview mirror on the car ride to Baltimore.

~O~

Hannibal Lecter was reading in his study, tuxedoed and ready for the ballet a full half-hour before he was planning to leave, when the doorbell rang.

“Will?”

Hannibal opened the door with a startled expression that shouldn’t have been hot but was on him.

Will’s ears pinked.

“Abigail said-” he began.

“Hiya, Will!” greeted a cheery voice from behind Hannibal. “I see you’re dressed appropriately for a night out.”

“Abigail.” Hannibal turned around. “Why aren’t you dressed?”

Abigail looked down at her blue jeans and casual tan blazer.

“Whoops,” she said, totally dead-pan. “I guess I’m not going to the ballet this evening. But Will looks like he’s prepared; why don’t you take him?”

Will took a step back from the doorway and raised his hands in defence.

“Oh God, I’m sorry, Hannibal. I thought you knew...”

Hannibal looked between his beaming daughter and a rather flustered Will.

“Will, would you like to come to the ballet with me?”

“Uh, sure, yes, please, if you want,” he replied, his words stumbling over each other like dominoes.

“Yes, I do want,” Hannibal said plainly. Then, turning to Abigail, he gave her a frown, indicating that, although he didn’t want to scold her in front of company, he did not appreciate her springing last-minute plans on him.

“Have a nice time! I’ll be at Marissa’s tonight.”

Then she gave her father a peck on the cheek, shook Will’s hand and crossed the street.

Will grinned sheepishly at Hannibal.

“Well, shall we get going, then?”

~O~

Hannibal glanced over at Will several times as he was driving, each time catching Will staring and causing the young man to quickly look out the window as if nothing had happened.

Adorable, and that was a word the doctor used most sparingly.

Every time he tried to initiate conversation, Will would jolt like a skittish deer in headlights before answering in poorly enunciated jumbles of sentences. However, Hannibal didn’t mind at all: in fact he enjoyed being the lead speaker in social situations and, although his articulation could have been improved, Will was an interesting person to talk to.

When they had arrived at the opera house in which the ballet was being performed, Hannibal turned to his passenger and asked him if he had ever seen a ballet live before.

Will shook his head.

Hannibal smiled broadly, as he realised he would be introducing someone to one of the greatest forms of art to be experienced. And not just anyone. Will.

As they were about to enter the busy theatre, Hannibal noticed that his companion’s dog-hair-embellished tie had drooped slightly on one side. Then, as if it was a totally natural gesture, he placed a hand on Will’s shoulder and used his thumb and his other hand to straighten it.

He could feel Will’s heart racing beneath his touch.

~O~

The two men found their seats with around ten minutes to spare: perfect timing. Will had accepted a programme from a member of the front of house staff and was reading through the short biography of each dancer.

“Do you know the storyline of Coppelia?” asked Hannibal, referring to the name of the show.

Will shook his head, still looking at his programme but gave all other indication that he was listening.

“It’s about a man who is due to get married but develops an infatuation with a life-size doll named Coppelia. You’ll know the characters when they appear. I think you’d be better than most at understanding the plot as there is a great emphasis on body language and mime."

Will opened his mouth as if to reply but it was at that moment that the house lights dimmed and the conductor strode purposefully into the orchestra pit. Will and Hannibal, seated in the front row of the balcony, were in the perfect position to see both the musicians and the action on stage.

When the conductor signalled a strong downbeat, the audience was drawn in by the entrancing, fluid horns and bassoon introduction. Hannibal leant back and let his eyelids droop languidly in contentment, feeling the harmonious vibrations thrum through his entire being.

When the strings section had reached the main melodic theme, Hannibal turned to check on his friend's enjoyment of the ballet so far and was immediately startled to see a tear trickling down the man's face. There was something utterly captivating about Will's expression, a gorgeous medley of surprise and awe at the incomparable emotional intensity of listening to a professional live orchestra for the first time.

It would have been rude and rather unnecessary to ask Will if he was alright, although Hannibal would have dearly liked to have invoked a blush on Will's cheeks. So instead he turned his attention to the conductor's wild rhythmic movements, blissful in the knowledge that Will Graham was right next to him, crying from the sheer beauty a newly discovered passion.

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Will's emotional reaction may or may not be based off personal experience.  
> Fun fact for my readers: 'tuxedoed' is actually a real word!  
> If you want to listen to the prelude of Copellia (which you totally should because it's a great piece), here is a link: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2wxaMTc3RJE


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will and Hannibal at the ballet (part 2).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologise if this chapter feels a little clunky.  
> My muse was being most uncooperative today.

“So, what do you think of it so far?” Hannibal asked Will after the curtain for the first act had descended and the house lights had turned back on.

“It’s beautiful,” Will replied, his eyes still wide and his voice slightly dazed-sounding. “I really understand why you like it.”

“And why is that?” Hannibal inquired, carefully keeping his tone distinctly un-psychiatrist-like.

Will wiped at the now dried streaks his tears had left on his face with his sleeve.

“Ballet is art created from the co-operation of physical and mental strength, both of which qualities you highly value. In contrast with the tension of the dancers, there is music that is freer and lighter in its expression and, judging by the abundant use of chiaroscuro in the still-life in your dining room, you find particular beauty in polar opposites. However, above all, you respect concentration and diligence and all performers tonight display these traits phenomenally.”

Will pinked a little and smiled at the pride that he had managed to finish such a long speech without tripping over his own words, which was rather stupid, since giving lectures was what he did for a living.

Hannibal’s brow furrowed, not by confusion or anger, but because he was so interested in what Will thought about him and it struck him that the two men had a much stronger mutual understanding than he had initially realised.

“Shall we have some champagne?” he offered, releasing his expression back into his default ‘courteous host’.

Will shrugged, his eyes still fixed on the stage, and Hannibal led him down their row and out to the extravagantly decorated foyer.

“Dr Lecter? My goodness, I haven’t seen you in almost a year!” a female voice crooned from a small group of people standing to the men’s left.

“Good evening, Adelaide,” Hannibal greeted, pulling Will into the social mingle. “It has been a while. This is my good friend, Will Graham, who has chivalrously stepped in for Abigail tonight.”

Will cleared his throat self-consciously at being described as ‘chivalrous’ and held out his hand for the woman to shake.

“Will Graham, did you say? Where have I heard that name before...?”

Placing a hand on Will's shoulder, Hannibal quietly excused himself to find the drinks table. 

“Maybe you've heard of my research on alternative forensic psychology techniques," Will susurrated to his feet.

"I remember now." Will could detect the false smile in her voice. "I read an article about your recent confrontation with the Tooth Fairy killer. I am so sorry that you lost your job: it was so unfair of the Bureau-"

From the other side of the room, Hannibal’s keen ears peaked with interest. He was considering intervening, but decided to wait a little while longer to make Will even more grateful for his interruption.

However, his plan became redundant when Will started to speak.

"I can’t imagine a sophisticated woman such as yourself would refer on the gossip column in a tabloid newspaper as an ‘article’.” His voice was cutting, deliciously so. “But let me assure you that if you had read the official disclosure you would have known that I am only taking a temporary leave of absence from the FBI. However, I cannot vouch for the accuracy of the rumours that I am mentally disturbed so it would suit you well not to piss me off.”

This was an unexpected, gloriously fierce side of Will and Hannibal gave an internal shiver of delight at the prospect of more surprises propping up in the man’s psyche.

“What have I missed?” Hannibal asked, suddenly materialising next to Will delicately holding a flute of sparkling champagne in each hand. 

“Thanks,” Will whispered, his voice dropping back into soft, stunted sentences, and he took one of the glasses of champagne. “Freddie Lounds has published another story about me, apparently.”

Conveniently, that was the moment the lights dimmed and brightened three times, alerting the audience members that the ballet was going to recommence soon.

Hannibal flashed a dashing smile at Adelaide, whom he mentally crossed off his Christmas card list, and ushered Will back to their seats with a strong, tenacious grip on Will’s shoulder and waited for the curtain to ascend.

~O~

The ballet resumed and continued for another hour and a half as expected. Hannibal glanced surreptitiously over at Will several times to see if he was experiencing another emotional episode. Apart from a slight gasp of breath at the beginning of the act and a deep, contented sigh when the curtain dropped, he was quite disappointed that he did not get to see Will’s perfect expression again.

Which was why, when they had returned to his house and were sitting in his study, he decided to ask him about it.

“So, Will, altogether, how was your first time watching a ballet? I seem to recall you being quite affected by it during the first act.”

Will shifted his weight anxiously.

“Yeah, um, I thought it was brilliant. I especially liked the animated puppets in the second act.”

Hannibal looked amused.

“Would it be too psychiatric of me to ask why you were crying?”

Will laughed, a short, stuttering motion that ended much too quickly.

“I guess... There are some things that are just too perfect, that invoke such intense feeling, that even if you laughed and cried and screamed all at once, it wouldn’t be enough to encapsulate the expression you feel building inside of you so you are just forced to sit and wait it all out and I guess I was just a little overwhelmed by the effort and the... What are you doing?”

Will had looked up from his clasped hands to see Hannibal, standing right in front of Will’s chair, his eyes darkened with an acute curiosity. Hannibal leaned in slowly, placing his hands on the arms of the chair for balance, his legs straight and his spine beautifully curved.

Well, fuck.

“What do you think of me?” Hannibal demanded.

Will swallowed convulsively.

He was so not prepared for this.

“I- I,” he stammered.

“Say it,” Hannibal commanded, leaning in closer so their faces were only a few inches apart and Will could see the different shades of lust colouring the man’s eyes.

“You’re perfect,” Will gasped, and when Hannibal bowed just a little bit further to make their lips meet in a possessive kiss, he could have sworn he tasted Will’s salty tears on his mouth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [insert smut here]  
> Fun fact: Will Graham cries during sex.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fluff fluff fluff.  
> Also, the last chapter. (A bit short but wraps things up.)

Will woke up in a soft daze, his eyelids contentedly heavy and a pleasing ache in his limbs. With a serene smile, he rolled lazily over to his right and was instantly accosted by the sight of a robed Hannibal Lecter reading a book in his bed.

Which was when he remembered with a sudden lurch in his stomach that this wasn’t his bed at all.

“Good morning, Will. Did you sleep well?”

“Yeah,” Will replied rather distractedly as the memories of what had happened last night returned to his addled mind.

“I think your yoga classes have paid off,” Hannibal remarked, as he placed his book on the bedside table and lifted himself lithely out of bed.

Oh, jeez. Will tried to look discrete while burying his face into the pillow to hide his mortified smile.

“I am going to make breakfast,” Hannibal said. “The bathroom is just across the hall. Come down when you’re ready.”

He waited until he was at least halfway down the stairs before letting out a deep, satisfied chuckle at Will’s endearing reaction.

~O~

After a hot, deeply cleansing shower in which Will indulged himself in a few minutes of childish experiments with merging the scents of ‘Aloe Vera and Sandalwood’ and ‘Black Peppercorn’ soaps, he found his clothes from yesterday folded in a neat pile by the towel rack. Having put his now delightfully wrinkled suit back on, he noticed his cellphone in his back pocket.

He had turned it off before the ballet at least twelve hours ago and he doubted anyone had tried to talk to him in that time, but nevertheless he switched it back on.

11 missed calls? And a text message from Alana:

[Alana: are you okay? please call me asap]

Oh shit. With a horrible clenching guilt in his gut, Will dialled Alana’s number.

“Will?”

There was a rustling sound, like she was suddenly getting out of bed.

“Are you alright? I tried to call you to ask how you were since I couldn’t see you on Wednesday but your phone was switched off.”

Her voice was much faster than usual and Will felt guilt grasp his stomach with its terrible grip again.

“I’m really sorry,” he said, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I’ve been busy.”

“Oh. Oh?”

Will would have gotten mad that she sounded so surprised that he was actually busy, but it was a fair reaction.

“I went to the ballet with Hannibal,” he said, consciously pushing down the glee he felt about to rise in his voice.

“Oh. That’s brilliant! I was just worried, you know, since Beverly said you hadn’t been feeling great...”

“I’m fine.”

“Will?” inquired an accented voice from the other side of the bathroom door, accompanied by three assertive knocks.

“Wait, Will, where are you now?” Alana asked.

“I’m at Hannibal’s...?

“You stayed the night at- oh my God...” There were a series of scuffles and laughs on the other side of the phone.

“Listen, Alana, I’ll talk to you later. I have to go now.”

He didn’t hear a reply over the laughter so he just hung up, slipped the phone back in his pocket and opened the door.

“Would crêpes be acceptable for breakfast?”

Will grinned.

“Hannibal, _pop tarts_ would be acceptable.”

Hannibal furrowed his brow in confusion, perhaps wondering what pop tarts were, but it didn’t matter because Will was already kissing him.

Perhaps crêpes were going to have to wait.

~O~

That week, Will decided it was time for him to go back to work. The decision was apparently approved by Hannibal, who hummed his agreement and by Alana, who had thankfully gotten over the unlikely nature of Will and Hannibal’s relationship after only one day.

It seemed like he had a stability back in his life and he was feeling really optimistic about recovering from his problems.

He was still going to have that disgusting scar, but Hannibal had described it as a ‘battle wound’ that was apparently ‘very sexy’, so he supposed everything had its advantages.

~O~

“Extend your spine and drop your head,” Hannibal instructed, as he paced the yoga room softly in his Italian loafers. “Will, a little higher, please.”

Will stretched his limbs further and felt his shirt slide up his chest, revealing his entire stomach.

“Will?” he heard Beverly ask incredulously. “Is that a _hickey_?”

“No,” replied Will and Hannibal simultaneously and there was a loud thunk as Beverly collapsed onto her mat, hooting with laughter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tada! Wow, this AU became a lot longer than I had anticipated.  
> I think I'm going to take a small break from Hannigram (note: SMALL) to write some Beverly / Alana because there is currently basically no fic with this ship, which is a total outrage.  
> Don't worry: I have about a million ideas for these boys I'm going to spill onto paper.

**Author's Note:**

> I don't even know what I'm doing with my life anymore.  
> hotdadwillgraham.tumblr.com


End file.
